


Gefjon

by wavewright62



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Crack, Deus Ex Machina, Other, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Wishful Thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-13 23:49:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10524495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wavewright62/pseuds/wavewright62
Summary: The goddess Gefjon had gotten used to humans forgetting about the Norse gods, until suddenly the humans were gone, taken by a terrible illness.  And then one day six humans came to her ancient home.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Gefjon was a Norse goddess, charged with fertility of the earth and the plough in particular, but was also petitioned for good luck among other things. The legend had it that she was granted all the land she could plow in a night as her own, and with her enchanted sons, she carved out the island of Sjælland from Sweden, dumped it into the bay to the west, and made her home there. She would take the spirits of those who died as 'virgins' (that is, independent of men) to her hall when they died, to serve as her handmaidens.
> 
> This serves as my contribution for the letter G in the SSSS Alphabet Soup challenge.

Gefion dragged with laughter  
from Gylfi liberal prince  
What made Denmark larger,  
so that beasts of draught  
the oxen reeked with sweat;  
four heads they had, eight eyes to boot  
who went before broad island-pasture  
ripped away as loot.

_\--from Bragi the Old, from a translation of The Prose Edda by Snorri Sturluson_

\-------------

Gefjon walked on the land that she and her sons had claimed. Long long ago, she spoke the words that transformed her four half-giant sons into strong bulls, and devised the plough they would pull to wrest her prize from the soil of Sweden. They made this land pleasant, and the humans who came to live there listened to her stories raptly. For many years, they would tell the stories amongst themselves, adding their own touches, and they called her a goddess. As time went on, the humans began to forget her or confuse her with others among the Æsir and Vanir, even as she brought pleasant growth to her home that they shared. Many of them told stories from the south, of Yhwh, that jealous one who insisted they were the only one ever, past and future.

That didn’t really matter to Gefjon, though. When she visited with others of the Æsir or Vanir, some of them would moan that the humans didn’t worship them any more, others would gloat about those who still remembered them. She would then have to spend some time dancing with the jötunn to restore her sense of balance. The humans spread and built buildings throughout all of the lands. Gefjon simply carried on as she always had.

Once came a time when the humans kept calling her name, and she went to see what the commotion was all about. She beheld a sculpture that they made for her, a depiction of her as a large human woman guiding four powerful oxen. Why was she depicted with a whip, though? She had needed all of her body and spirit’s strength to augment that of her sons, she did not have a hand available to use a silly whip, nor had her sons needed that kind of inducement. Never mind, she was touched that they remembered after all. They placed the sculpture in the midst of a fountain in the city they had built on her home of Sjælland, which made Gefjon smile, remembering the much less tame waters roiling around the land as they dragged it to its present position and dumped it into the wide bay.

Then suddenly the humans all sickened and died, within an eyeblink. Their collective cries in the spirit world startled Gefjon, as few humans ever came there, but just as swiftly the cry ceased and the humans were gone. She traveled the lands grief-stricken, only realising that moment how accustomed she had become to their presence. In their place was desolation, and some new monsters which were like maddened jötunn and could travel in both Midgard and the spirit world of the sea that surrounded it. She traveled to Yggdrasil to consult with the Norns, but they were little help in unravelling the riddle. Only Skuld That-Which-Should-Be took pity on her and pointed out that in fact not _all_ of the humans were dead, and counselled Gefjon to go tend to the lands.

When Gefjon returned, she could see Skuld was correct and she had work to do. Hel only took the monsters grudgingly, she was momentarily sated after accepting so very many of the humans into her realm so recently. Here and there throughout the lands, there were humans left who turned back to the Æsir and Vanir and others of their kind, and asked for their favour and aid as once they had so long ago.

They gifted the humans with the aid they sought, by way of granting certain of them the power to go to the sea surrounding Midgard. There they could have power to battle the monsters, or to have foresight and prophecy, or consult with the gods directly through their spirit animals, or sometimes simply to rest from their travails in Midgard.

Gefjon knew all about the nurturing of the embattled seedling, and she applied her skills to foster this spindly remnant. She walked the land and did what she could, answered the odd prayer, but there were only the monsters left in her home of Sjælland.

Then one day she noticed a human, near that statue of herself and her sons. The human man was not quite alone, he was followed by two others. One was a lovely young woman, like to those who were Gefjon's handmaidens in times long ago, free and independent. And her name was Good Luck! It was almost like she was brought here specifically as a gift for Gefjon.

But more astonishing still was the other – a young man who had been touched by Freya herself. She could see Freya's gift all over him, emblazoned in staves adorning his spirit. She must have really liked this one; she had even woven her sigils into his long hair. How came they here?

She looked more closely for more of the humans, but there were only three others. One was bright with Thor's touch, which wasn't too surprising, as many who fought the monsters in Midgard sought Thor's favours. This one looked like she'd arm-wrestle a Valkyrie for the choicest mutton joint in Valhalla. One of them had the touch of others of the gods on him, but those were the gods to the east, that kept to their forests and lakes and came not to the halls of the Æsir. Six humans, in all of Sjælland. Gefjon's heart went out to them. They were a brave company, and obviously had the favour of the gods at least partially on their side.

The three passed by her statue again on their way back. They were surrounded by monsters and ghosts that Hel wouldn't accept, but only the one that bore Freya's gift seemed to notice.

The fiery one touched by Thor was wounded fighting monsters, but in true warrior spirit was not ready to go to Valhalla at least until her arm was healed enough to do that arm-wrestling.

She kept an eye on these intrepid people as they roamed the land and onto the island of Funen, sending some squirrels and other small bits of good luck to ensure they had enough. They were pursued by monsters, however, and Gefjon did not need a trip to consult the Norns to see what was likely to happen to them.

She knew of a human spirit adrift in the sea surrounding Midgard. Gefjon had mostly ignored her, as she was one of Yhwh's dedicated, but perhaps she could help these living travelers. Gefjon touched the traveler beloved by Freya, and sent him to meet this spirit, and he did consult with her. He even went back a second time without Gefjon's touch, and brought along a different human, brother and cousin to the travelers from the eastern gods. Freya had definitely bestowed this one.with power, to bring that one from so far away!

The monsters and ghosts caught up with them, however. They had made preparations, but in the end the staves Freya's blessed one drew (and Gefjon touched anyway, in the absence of his blood given for Freya) did not protect them all from the onslaught. Somehow, they called upon one of the powerful eastern gods to aid them, and in Gefjon's astonishment at the fury and flame of this strange god Kokko, she backed away briefly from the battle. Alas, without Gefjon's luck, the one who was named Good Luck was attacked by a monster, and would soon return to her eastern gods or become a monster herself.

Gefjon wondered if she could claim this one for a handmaiden for her own hall. No, she decided, while I could not help stop this happening to untold amounts of the humans, perhaps I can intervene for just _one._

She arrayed herself to resemble the human depiction of herself as they had sculpted her for the fountain (but left off the silly whip) and found Freya's bright one, who was wandering the sea around Midgard looking for Yhwh's abandoned human. She appeared to him, opening her arms wide and smiling brightly. "Greetings! I am Gefjon." She waited for his awed supplication, but he just looked at her with a vague smile on his face. At least the fylgja Freya had sent him had the good sense to bow down.

"Hi, are you a ghost?" He was addressing her directly, which took her aback somewhat. "I, ah, was looking for the old lady from the church, do you know where she is?"

Gefjon thought about this for a moment, but didn't make the connection with the follower of Yhwh. She wasn't really here to engage in dialogue anyway, it had been so long since she engaged directly with a human. She pressed on, "Hear me! I have seen the valour of your party. Good Luck is not yet ready for my hall, although welcomed she would be. Freya-blessed are you, and you can bring her aid."

The boy just stood there mouth agape. He collected himself enough to swallow hard before asking, "I'm sorry, I don't really know the gods, but I can help? What do I need to do?" That was better; at least now he seemed suitably awed.

She raised her arms and recited,

"The disease you must smite  
Heeds not potions of men nor their prayers,  
Hel herself wants the stricken not  
Sends her back to Midgard and fulsome airs.

Take the plough of iron fast  
Loose your hair and don tabard of snow,  
Three times must you plough the soil  
Ere morn comes the footsteps of Kokko sow."

She put down her arms. Wide green eyes stared back at her, and Freya's mark sparkled upon him. She could tell he hadn't the slightest clue what she'd just said. She turned her gaze to the fylgja. "Gefjon commands him," she told the dog, "help him to find the plough." The dog leapt up, tail wagging. "Ooo, who's a good boy, then. _You are._ " She couldn't resist cooing at the sweet fylgja.

There was no more she could do, but she saw the dog pulling on the hapless boy's sleeve as she walked away.

What she didn't see, was the young man of the company who served the eastern gods, looking upon them with wide ice blue eyes from within his haven, listening to every word. As Gefjon walked away, that young man turned back inside his haven.

Gefjon waited and watched as Freya's anointed awoke back in Midgard. As instructed by the fylgja, he took a white cloth and draped it around himself, and put on one of the masks they sometimes wore. One of the other humans tried to hold him fast to prevent him from leaving their protection, but the one with icy eyes touched by the eastern gods aided him and they both went outside. The icy one found a long piece of iron very quickly and handed it to the other, who by this time had loosened his long red hair as instructed. Freya's sigils clung to the strands still, from Gefjon's view.

The iron made some dull scratches only upon the burnt ground. It was not a plough. Frustrated, the red-haired boy drew staves in the dirt, and while they were good staves, they would not serve for Gefjon's purpose.

The other folded his hands upon his chest and began to sing. Gefjon could not understand these words, for they spoke to other gods far away, but the sound was very sweet to her ears. She felt young again listening to them, as she did every year as the spring came, although the dead of winter was upon them now.

As she raised her eyes to the skies, she saw another come to the sound of the song. This other was a deathless one much as herself, and dressed in softest green. She looked Gefjon full in the face, and held out her hand. This Gefjon took, and they began to walk around each other slowly, their gazes locked. As they walked, the ground became soft and the young man took his iron to the places their footsteps had graced. Three times the goddesses circled in their dance, driven by the haunting song, and after the third time the newcomer smiled down upon the two humans.

"Rauni the rowan smiles upon you, Reynir the rowan." She bent down and kissed an awestruck Lalli (for that was how Gefjon learned his name) on his forehead, before waving a last time to Gefjon, turning away, and vanishing in the mists of the coming dawn.

The magic was cast, the binding was done. Gefjon passed to the young woman sleeping on her sickbed and touched her lightly on her short silvery hair. "My handmaiden you shall not be, but Luck you remain," she whispered, "the monster's touch leaves you." And with that she gathered up the monster's taint from the woman, and holding it in her hand, let it fall into the stave the one called Reynir had scratched into the dirt. It flared briefly before falling to ash.

Gefjon turned to Lalli. She didn't speak, but smiled upon him as he gazed at her with solemn eyes, the mark of Rauni's kiss upon his forehead.

Beyond him Gefjon saw Freya striding toward them, intent upon Reynir her anointed, who was lying senseless, prone upon the plowed earth. "You chose well," was all she said as passed Freya.

As she returned to her home, Gefjon could still hear the rhythm of Lalli's words, and envied him the kiss Rauni had bestowed upon him.


End file.
